


Chantey

by adiva_calandia



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest (2006), Young Wizards - Diane Duane
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 01:50:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adiva_calandia/pseuds/adiva_calandia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laying on the sand and watching for ships (or sea turtles, maybe), Jack Sparrow -- <i>Captain</i> Jack Sparrow until recently -- is starting to think the heat and the rum are getting to him. </p>
<p>Or maybe he really did see a fin the size of a sail cutting through the water out there.</p>
<p>----</p>
<p>Set in and around the events of the first two Pirates movies, and a good long time before any of the YW books.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chantey

Davy Jones _is_ the sea.

His crewmembers whisper -- very, very quietly -- that he's been standing in the bowsprit of the _Flying Dutchman_ since last night, silent.

None of them are sure what eventually cues him to turn and stump back to his quarters, looking satisfied. A few hands from the flooded bilges claim they heard -- well, silence, an end to a sound they'd been hearing all day.

Well, in the end, it must not be that important, because the captain never says anything about it, and his faint, apparently tuneless humming isn't so unusual.

The organ music from his cabin that night is a slow, rich dirge.

* * *

Laying on the sand and watching for ships (or sea turtles, maybe), Jack Sparrow -- _Captain_ Jack Sparrow until recently -- is starting to think the heat and the rum are getting to him. 

Or maybe he really _did_ see a fin the size of a sail cutting through the water out there.

Or maybe it was a sail -- it was white, after all -- but sails don't usually have long white shapes moving smoothly under the water beneath them.

When it dips back below the water, at the edge of his range of vision, he clambers to his feet and conscientiously wanders away from the shoreline.

* * *

Bill Turner stares at the whales finning silently past -- dolphins, huge baleen-mouthed whales, teethed whales, one strange black and white one.

And as the gigantic white shark goes past . . . and goes past . . . and goes past . . . he shrinks back against the cannon as if it will shield him. One dead black eye seems to regard him briefly and dismiss him.

Maybe a pitiful pirate with no real life in him isn't worth eating.

Some time later, faint strains of song come through the water to his ears, and he shivers in the crushing dark and cold.

* * *

"Have you ever seen a whale, Mr. Gibbs?"

"Oh, aye, girlie." The sailor tosses back a mouthful of rum from his flask. "Seen 'em, and heard 'em, too."

" _Heard_ them?" Elizabeth says, round-eyed and not quite credulous.

Gibbs nods, solemn. "Aye, heard 'em. They sing to each other, through the deeps."

"They _sing?_ " She twists her hands together. "They don't really sing, do they?"

"Well, ye're free not to believe me, little miss," he replies stiffly, "but it's God's truth. Now, I don't say they sing like mermaids, mind, but sing they do." He takes another swig of rum and adds, sounding dubious himself, now, "I've heard tell that they tell whole stories in song, even -- they gather together and sing 'em."

"What kind of stories could whales tell?" Elizabeth objects.

"Well, it may be they're tellin' tales of being sailors. Aye," he continues off her suprised look, back in sure territory, "they say that the souls of sailors come back as dolphins . . ."

* * *

There are uneasy tales in the ports of strange whales, and pods of dolphins swimming with sharks, and tentacles and ink-clouded waters.

Jack treats Gibbs' repeated protestations that all this is a portent the same way he treats most of his first mate's proclamations of doom.

* * *

The Carribbean has been frought with hurricanes and violent storms this year. Ships wreck with alarming frequency, often regardless of the skill of their captains. People mutter that the sea itself is out for blood.

Tia Dalma casts the bones and frowns, and says aloud, "Him gettin' stronger. There gwine be bad trouble in dese waters." She looks out her window at the slow-flowing river.

"She need to be sung to sleep."

* * *

The Isla de Muerta sinks a week later.

* * *

The Sea wants a willing sacrifice.

Steel sings as Jack draws his sword, smiling, defiant.

"Hello, beastie."

Let the teeth come.

* * *

There is blood in the water. Oh, yes.

The kraken keens and starts to swim away from the wreckage of the _Black Pearl_ , but it's wounded and slow. And Ed'rashtekaresket is hungry. Insatiable.

The longboat radiates distress and despair, but the burnt angry pained foul _bleeding_ taste of the water draws stronger than the half-dozen tiny lives. He follows as the kraken flees, jaws working.

The kraken has row upon row of teeth, and tentacles that can suck a man's face off.

The Master Shark has skin that tears suckers that try to grip it, and teeth of his own, and all the patience in the world.

* * *

The Sea is very calm as the _Pearl_ 's crew rows slowly away.


End file.
